Carry On Lonely Son
by EstrellaQueAdmiro
Summary: -SEASON 9 FINALE SPOILERS-Overwhelmed with grief, Sam struggles to come to terms with his most recent loss. One-shot describing the final scenes of "Do You Believe in Miracles?" from Sam's perspective.


"I'm proud of us."

Dean was gone. His bloodied body fell forward into his little brother's arms, that grabbed him and pulled him close. Sam refused to acknowledge reality. He must have just passed out. He'll be exhausted, just let him rest a moment. But then he saw the eyes. Half open and glazed over, staring ahead at nothing. All life in those hazel eyes, gone. Sam was alone.

"No," Sam's voice was a mere whimper, "C'mon, wake up, buddy. C'mon, wake up. _Please."_

It took the last surviving Winchester a few minutes of desperate begging before he accepted it. Dean wasn't going to wake up. Those eyes. Couldn't Sam see the dullness in them? Hadn't he noticed how still he was, the lack of rise and fall in his chest? Dammit, Sam, the signs were all there. With one last glance at his big brother's face, his vision blurred by the tears excessively forming in his eyes, Sam broke down into feeble, forlorn cries. His arms wrapped tighter around Dean's limp body, nuzzling his face into his shoulder. Searching for the last of the warmth escaping the dead hunter's body, the last of his _brother_. Dean was already so cold, so he provided no comfort for Sam. What made him _Dean_ was gone now, but who knows where that part had gone. Sam didn't even know what happened with Metatron. Had Gadreel and Cas taken care of him? Or was he on his way back to finish off the last Winchester? If it was the latter, he lacked the energy to fight. He'd won simply by taking Dean. Part of Sam wanted Metatron's head on a stick, but another part of him was ready to feel that blade go deeper into his chest until he was dead.

Sam had no one. God knows if Cas was even _alive_, let alone Gadreel. What if someone caught them, or worse, what if Metatron was with them right now? If they were dead, who could he turn to? No parents, no _Bobby_. Sam wasn't even sure if or when Charlie would be back. It was turning out scarily similar to six years ago, when the younger Winchester brother was in a similar situation. He was holding his brother's body just as he had before. In a way, Sam was relieved he had gone relatively peacefully, as opposed to the horrific screams of pain. With a shaking hand, tears still streaming down his face, Sam gently closed his brother's eyes. Dean was at rest, for now at least.

He regretted all the things he said to his brother. All the hurt from Dean betraying him, letting his body be possessed by a deceitful angel, had built up within him and the only way to sooth the pain had been to lash out at Dean. Of course they were brothers, and of course Sam would stop at nothing to save his dying brother. But this had been temporarily twisted by the pent up rage and betrayal. The lone hunter choked out a small apology for all the things he said, for all the hurt he caused. Dean had been just like Sam was now, afraid of facing things alone after they'd been a team since, well, Sam was six months old. Sam was Dean's rock, his bank of knowledge and support system. Without his little brother, who could pull him back from the edge of recklessness? Dean was almost a parent to Sam, despite the closeness in age, and had been since Mary's death. He was the one who supported him from day one, helped him out if he was struggling to get the hang of using the new weapon John had given him. He was the one who went to his soccer games and cheered his little brother on, then sneakily take him for a burger or something afterwards to celebrate. He was the one who when he could, would allow Sam to take a little break, even stealing library books for him as he'd come to notice his love for reading. Without Dean, Sam didn't want to think about how different his life could have been.

With a deep breath, Sam lifted his brother into his arms. He couldn't stand being in that place any longer. Dean's head hung loosely over Sam's arm, but the younger Winchester couldn't bear to look. The dead hunter's arm swung limply as his brother carried him. He'd forgotten about the inhabitants of this place. All those followers Metatron had managed to gain. Fiercely loyal. Sam wasn't sure how they'd react to the corpse being carried past.

One by one they turned and watched, silent and wide-eyed at Dean. Sam tried so hard to ignore them, to get to the Impala and get away. Those people angered him for their blind faith in Dean's killer, and he feared he'd become reckless.

"He _killed_ him!" someone yelled, but Sam couldn't locate the voice. He was confused: were they accusing him or "Marv"? He persevered on towards the car, fighting the fresh tears and desperately attempting to keep his expression neutral.

"_Murderer,"_ another person hissed, "Where's Marv?"

_Almost there_, Sam thought to himself, readying himself to lay his brother in the backseat. But the mutters and cries only built up, increased.

"You call _this_ a miracle?" the grieving brother turned back to them, his voice shaking and weakening by the second, "_Marv_ killed my brother. Call him the Messiah now?"

Stifling another sob, Sam turned and opened up the Impala's backseat door without waiting for a response. Just before he carefully laid Dean in the back, however, he changed his mind. Opening the front passenger door, the lone Winchester sat Dean in the passenger seat, unable to look at his face, and fastened his safety belt before getting into the driver's side. It was the final attempt to cling at normality. He tried to pretend they were just on the way to another hunt. _Tried_. But it was difficult to pretend when Dean's body was as lifeless as it was.

The drive felt so much longer than it was and was in dead silence. Dean's classic rock had turned on the moment Sam started up the engine, and he was close to smashing the damn stereo as he turned it off. Any reminder of his brother was too much for him to handle at that moment. He was in total denial, still trying to kid himself that Dean was _asleep_. His eyes were closed; his head was back against the headrest. All that was missing was the snores. Sam just didn't want to be alone.

He parked in the bunker garage and glanced at Dean again. Waiting. Just _waiting_ for a sign of life. Cautiously, Sam reached and shook his brother's shoulder, bracing himself for Dean to jump into life and yell at him for disturbing his sleep. Of course, the hunter stayed silent and limp, what else was Sam expecting? With a slow sigh he slid his arms under Dean's body and lifted him out the car. Without stopping, he headed straight for his room, where he laid his big brother to rest on the bed. Taking a step back, Sam struggled to keep himself composed, desperately pulling himself back from breaking down all over again. Seeing his brother look so frail and broken was far from an easy sight. His shirt stained with Dean's blood, and in an instant he ripped it off and put on a clean one. He didn't need a reminder on _himself_.

Sam became lost in his thoughts, still standing over Dean. Guarding him, as if afraid his brother would fade away into thin air. Gone forever. With Dean's body still here, there was still a _chance. _A reanimation spell wouldn't be ideal, he'd dealt with that too many times and knew a resurrected Dean wouldn't be the Dean he knew. He'd be bloodthirsty and murderous, and would only end up having to be stopped all over again. Sam was reasonably certain that he'd be top of Dean's kill list if brought back in such a way.

For a while he considered making a deal. Why not? Dean had done so to bring him back, what, seven years ago? But then Sam remembered the _pain_ and _guilt_ he felt a year later, watching Dean be ripped to shreds by hellhounds as a result of that deal. While he didn't care about that consequence, Dean would. Sam didn't want to bring back his brother, only to leave him on his own once more after however long the demon gives him. And he guessed it wouldn't be much. Was his soul even worth anything anymore? He didn't even want to try. He knew making a deal would only cause more crap.

Unable to stay in that room any longer, the lone brother turned away and left the room. He had to sit down before his legs gave way. He was numb besides an aching in his chest, and the only way to combat the pain was the whiskey hidden away in the library. Sam sat there a while, failing to drag his thoughts away from images of his dead brother flashing up in his mind. He considered calling Cas, but for all he knew, he was dead too. He didn't even try. He lost his brother; piling on a few more deaths wouldn't make much difference to him right now, though deep down he couldn't lose Cas too. If he was still alive, he was all he had.

Sam stayed there for several hours, just drinking. Drowning out the pain and the images in his head. He didn't want to sleep, he'd just relive the moment the blade sunk further into Dean's chest, the moment Dean died in his arms. At least he had slightly more control over his thoughts while conscious. But then he remembered something.

As expected, Sam found the materials needed to summon Crowley in the same place as he'd found them previously in the dungeon. Wiping away the remnants of tears, he knelt down to take a closer look.

"Alright, Crowley," he muttered, "You got him into this mess. You can get him out."


End file.
